


Jackets

by WahlBuilder



Series: Languages of Love [4]
Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 08:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Anton visits the ASC HQ.





	Jackets

The ASC HQ is a labyrinth — but to someone born and grown in the Slums, the HQ is easy to crack: with the ASC need for symmetry and regulated space — and the master sequence that allows Anton to bypass any locks. Plus, a memorized map of cameras.

Anton is resourceful.

He goes to the cafeteria on the third level. It is reserved for agents, neat and empty like everything else here, and especially uninviting at this later hour. But there is one figure folded on a bench.

“Want tea? I’ve brought small cakes.” He doesn’t wait for the answer before going to the kitchen area and putting the kettle to boil. The tea in the cupboard is an abomination, more tea dust than anything resembling leaves — but Vik is used to it and Anton forgot to bring a sachet of proper tea.

Vik grunts, then calls, “Yes, please!”

Anton puts a tablespoon of the tea dust into the teapot, then fills it with hot water. He looks through other cupboards for sugar and finds it in a tin for some reason marked as “chicory”, wonders whether he can get away with adding less than half a cup into Vik’s mug. He can try. He has cakes, after all (chocolate and caramel), so tea that is too sweet would be…

He sighs and fills Vik’s mug with six teaspoons of sugar. And which one of them has a sweet tooth?

He places steaming mugs onto a tray, adds a pitcher with cold water, puts cakes on a plate and takes everything to Vik.

Vik, long legs stretches under the table and the opposite bench, is bent over a… a…

It takes all of Anton’s will to not drop the tray and run away.

He knows this jacket. Black leather worn but still sturdy (he chose it exactly because that, even though it costs a fortune to have these jackets made), no badges or patches, voluminous enough to wear light armor underneath or conceal a gun.

It’s a twin of his own jacket — only the one spread on the table in front of Vik has terrible tears mended long time ago (there was so much blood, Anton remembers, and Vik refusing to let go).

Anton swallows, placing the tray carefully on the table. “Doing some sewing?”

Vik grunts again. There is a cigarette clenched in his teeth. He puts it on the ashtray beside himself, and tugs on the needle.

“Подкладка поехала. Надо новую делать, эта только дальше распускаться будет.” He takes a mug and drinks. “Спасибо, Тоша.”

Anton watches his hands move. Tries to feign indifference. “Выкинул бы. Никуда уже не годится.”

Vik’s hands stop, then steely eyes look up. “Ни за что, Тоша. Это _моя_ куртка.” Vik resumes sewing, taking a drink now and then.

Anton pushes the plate with cakes to him. Thinking.

“Vitya?”

Vik looks up.

Anton leans to him and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Yours. Yours.”


End file.
